“As Kyra just reminded me, there is no accounting for taste.” Maddie smiled. “But I’m guessing he’s the barnyard version of a walk on the wild side.”

Although she couldn’t see it for the mangroves, Avery heard a boat motor slowing near the dock. The boat horn tapped cheerily and someone called out for Roberto.

“What are you working on?” Avery asked, taking a seat in the empty Adirondack.

“I’ve made a list of resale shops between Key West and Palm Beach. I was going to spend the morning making calls and offering the furniture and fixtures that Deirdre’s not planning to use in any of the units. We need to get them off the island and it’s possible we might be able to make something to put toward the renovation.”

“Good.” Avery took a long sip of her coffee. “We still need to ask William about memorabilia. Anything he could sign that we could sell or auction off.”

Maddie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Avery knew that asking for things was way outside Maddie’s comfort zone; but she actually seemed to have more pull with William Hightower than any of the rest of them.

“Roberto said he could get to the kitchenette in Will’s bedroom first thing tomorrow morning, but some of the space is coming out of Will’s closet. Can you empty it this afternoon?”

“Don’t you think we should wait until William’s back? I can’t just go in his closet and paw through his things without his permission.”

“No, we can’t wait.” Avery downed the rest of her coffee. “We don’t know where he is or when he’ll be back. I hope it’s soon because Deirdre promised the outdoor kitchen company that he’d do an on-camera cooking demo as soon as it’s installed and we’re already behind schedule.” She set her mug on the broad arm of the chair as Roberto left his boat to greet his crew. “And you won’t be pawing through anything. You’ll be culling his possessions with great care and respect and moving them out of the way so that they won’t get dirty or damaged.”

Maddie grimaced. “But his underwear will probably be in the dressers there. I can’t go through his personal things.”

“I’m sure he’d rather find you handling his unmentionables than any other member of the crew. I’d ask Roberto to do it, but I’m afraid he might turn Will’s boxers into some sort of drug paraphernalia.”

Maddie couldn’t help but laugh at that image. Avery left quickly before Maddie could figure out a way to wriggle out of the task she’d been assigned.

* * *

By the time she’d finished making her calls, Maddie was pleased with the response she’d gotten from the resale shops. One vintage clothing store owner in Key West had explained that although she didn’t have room on her floor for furnishings, she’d take “anything that had touched William Hightower’s body in the last four decades.” Which had Maddie thinking that while she emptied the master closet, she should keep an eye out for old tour T-shirts or anything else Will might be willing to part with. By the time she had a sandwich and headed to the main house she’d pretty much convinced herself that emptying William Hightower’s closet was no more personal than emptying his kitchen cupboards, a feat she’d accomplished quickly and efficiently and with no qualms of any kind.

But William’s bedroom didn’t feel at all like his kitchen. For one thing his kitchen had not contained his unmade king-sized bed. Which she stared at for far longer than necessary. Its black-and-gray-striped sheets were rumpled, the pillows strewn across it, the comforter half on and half off it. Maddie had no idea if this was how William always left his bed or if he’d left so early that he hadn’t had time to make it.

She stood mesmerized for a ridiculously long period of time before finally stepping closer; close enough to touch the sheets he’d slept on, trace the pillows he’d placed his head on.

Okay, she was starting to creep herself out. She was not some groupie who would live forever on the memory of a look or glance. She was not going to stand here staring at William Hightower’s bed with her head full of . . . well, it didn’t matter what it was full of.

With a nervous laugh she berated herself for her childishness. For her ridiculous desire to . . . well, she didn’t want to think about what she might desire, either. And so she did what she would have done if the bed in front of her had belonged to anyone but William Hightower.

She made it. Neatly. With hospital corners. And a knife-edged crease on the edge of each pillow sham.

Then she marched into the closet. Where she breathed in the heady scent for several long moments while she attempted to absorb where she was and what she was seeing. It took some time to figure out the categories into which she might sort William Hightower’s belongings, but once she got started she tuned out everything else.

She was, in fact, so absorbed in her task that she heard nothing but her own thoughts until late afternoon when the front door slammed and heavy footsteps stomped up the newly built stairs and into the master bedroom.

“Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell are you doing?!”

Maddie whipped around at the sound of Will’s voice behind her. The stack of boxer briefs she held went flying into the air before landing all around them.

She wasn’t sure which of them looked more shocked. But she knew who looked angriest. She flinched at the look in his eyes, her worst fears realized. She’d been caught like an errant child with her hand in the underwear, er, cookie jar.

Chapter Twenty-five

Yelling at Madeline Singer was even worse than kicking a puppy, and Will regretted it almost as soon as, possibly even before, he’d started doing it.

It might not have happened if he hadn’t reached Mermaid Point tired and thirsty and pissed off at himself for almost running aground out near Shell Key because he’d zoned out and forgotten to pay attention; something no one who lived in a place where water depth often hovered in the inches could afford to do. He’d had the oddest craving for a tall, ice-filled glass of lemonade all day, but from the moment he’d gotten close enough to see the strange boats tied up to his dock he was spoiling for a fight. The racket of saws and hammers and the shouts of strangers ricocheting all over his island had turned the normally relaxing act of hosing off the skiff and easing her into her cradle an annoying task.

The overflowing Dumpster didn’t help. The scaffolding that choked his house was like a match to his tinderbox. That was when he should have dived into the pool to cool off mentally and physically. Instead he’d headed inside. Where he’d felt like one of the frickin’ Three Bears when he discovered the missing staircase in the foyer with the gaping hole above it, the shell of a kitchen, and the rough-cut stairs that rose in a totally different spot and poked through yet another gaping hole.

His bedroom had been invaded, too. All his things picked up. His bed made by some anal-retentive intruder—all tight and creased with military precision.

He was still telling himself to calm down, patting his pockets for a Tootsie Pop—something he hadn’t done all week—when he went into the closet and found Goldilocks surrounded by piles of his clothes and possessions, each pile organized and labeled with handwritten descriptions.

When Madeline Singer turned to face him she had his frickin’ underwear in her hands. Some small part of his brain registered that this particular woman didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. The rest of his brain was already roaring in anger and indignation that she had invaded his privacy like no other adult had since his mother’s brief stint of sobriety during which she’d found and thrown out his teenage cache of Playboy magazines he’d kept hidden under his bed.

Maddie looked even more surprised than he was when his underwear flew up in the air as if shot from a cannon then rained down around them.

“What the hell is going on in here?” He didn’t think he’d shouted quite as loud this time. But her eyes batted and her face started to screw up like she was trying not to . . .

“Aw, hell no! Don’t you dare cry!”

“I’m not crying!” she shouted back. “You surprised me, that’s all.” She dropped down to the floor and began to pick up his underwear, crouching at his feet as she scooped up his boxers one at a time, refolding each one while he watched.

She pressed the pile into his hands as if offering some great prize. He had no choice but to take them. Not that he knew what frickin’ pile they belonged in.

He shoved them onto the top of a now empty dresser. Taking a deep breath, he reached out a hand to help her up.

“What is this?” He gestured around the closet, trying to swallow back his anger. She was clenching the very hands that had made his bed and folded his underwear. Her shock seemed to be fading into something that resembled irritation. He looked around his closet. His dresser drawers had been emptied. The hangers that held his hanging clothes had been aligned in the same direction. All of it had been arranged by color.

“What are you doing?” The anger had ebbed a notch, but he and his voice were a million miles from calm.

He braced himself for tears, but her chin shot up as she met his eye. “Roberto’s ready to frame in your kitchenette in the morning. We had to empty the closet first.”

His own anger was dissipating, but he was nowhere near ready to apologize. The best thing would be to get out of this closet. Go for that swim. Blow off whatever steam remained.

“I was going to put them in the closest upstairs bedroom. I just thought it would be easier for you if everything were arranged so that things are easy to find while they’re in the other room. And then to put back when the closet’s ready.”